Green grew over everything—climbing buildings, winding through the streets, ringing towers. In places it was hard to see the stone. Blossoms were everywhere as spring took hold. Their sweet smell mingled with the crisp scent of the high mountain air and the loamy aroma of the greenery.
A large waterfall fell over the western canyon wall to feed a great pool, out of which flowed dozens of waterways that wound throughout the fortress. Lewan counted no less than eight fountains within the fortress, and he thought he could even see the sparkle of water on the roof of the great tower. How could water flow up so high? People lounged by some of the fountains—men in robes or loose-fitting garb, women in colors to rival the flowers and blossoms.
And over all this—buildings, towers, statues on pedestals, the great dome near the western canyon wall—flew birds of every color. Black ravens, white doves, and songbirds ranging from deepest blue to brightest yellow and every shade between. Lewan, who had lived most of his life in the wild and could name every bird of the Amber Steppes and Shalhoond in at least two languages, had never seen at least a dozen of these birds.
Lewan had never really considered the meaning of the word paradise. But standing there in the late morning air, clean and dressed in the loose-fitting linen clothes Ulaan had brought him, he knew that he could not imagine anything more fitting than the scene before him. This was paradise.
But then his master’s voice rose up in his memory. Sentinelspire … you don’t know that place. It’s … hard to see clearly there. Sentinelspire is a realm built on blood. Murder. I don’t want you anywhere near that place.
How could his master have been so wrong?
Lewan winced at the thought. The bright mood that had grown in him darkened. He could still remember a great shambling mound of earth and mud rising, almost in the shape of a man, and burying his master. Had it been real? Or part of a dream brought on by the poison in his veins?
Ulaan had been unable to tell him, only said that all would be made clear in time and that he should not leave his room.
He heard the door to his room open, then footsteps. He walked back through the double doors of his balcony and through the filmy curtains fluttering in the morning breeze.
Ulaan had returned, bearing a large platter of food and drink. Behind her, coming into the room, was the most striking woman Lewan had ever seen. She stood a bit taller than Lewan, and she walked with the bearing of a queen. Her black hair hung in dozens of braids well past her waist, and tiny rings of gold and jewels sparkled among them. A circlet of fine chain ringed her head, and tiny rubies dangled from finer chains on her forehead. Her dress, fitted tightly from wrist to neck and down her torso, flowed out in a loose skirt beneath her waist. Tiny red jewels were sewn into the seams, complementing the silky fabric that flowed between deepest red and the warm yellow of a dusty-sky sunset. Her skin was darker than Lewan’s, but where his was weathered from years of sun, wind, and rain, hers was flawless and smooth. Her dark eyes looked out beneath sharp eyebrows, arched in what was something between amusement and offense. With dawning horror, Lewan realized he’d been staring. No, not staring. Gawking.
He snapped his mouth shut, averted his eyes, and bowed.
Ulaan set the platter on the table by his bedside, bowed to them both, and fled the room, closing the door behind her.
“I am Talieth, Lady of the Fortress,” said the woman.
Talieth. He’d heard that name before, when Sauk’s men had dragged him into the camp. The half-orc had tried to calm his master by saying, Talieth will explain everything when we get to the Fortress.
“Please take your eyes off the floor,” said the woman.
Lewan obeyed, but he could find nowhere to look. He could not hold the woman’s gaze, and anything lower than her face put him in even more dangerous territory. She had ordered him to look up, so he settled for a spot just over her left shoulder.
“I don’t know where you are from, young man,” she said. “But here, it is considered polite to give your name when introducing yourself to the lady of the house.”
“I, uh, I—” Lewan swallowed hard and took a breath to calm himself. “I am called Lewan.”
“Called by whom?”
“My … my master. Berun.”
Lewan risked a glance at her face and was surprised to see a look of genuine sorrow there.
“That is part of what we must speak about, Lewan. But first”—she spread her hands, as if presenting a gift—“I bid you welcome to Sentinelspire. I hope Ulaan has fulfilled her duties in making you comfortable.”
“Uh, she has, my lady. She brought me these clothes. I told her how hungry I am and she, uh—” Lewan gestured at the platter of food.
“Forgive me, Lewan,” said Talieth. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal the past few days. Please. Sit. I will speak while you refresh yourself.”
Quite an ordeal. Lewan had to force himself not to grit his teeth as he walked to the table and sat upon the stool. He looked to the platter—anything to keep his eyes off Talieth. Beside a large metal pitcher of water and a silver bowl of wine was a plate of meat sliced almost parchment thin. Rare beef, he thought, though he couldn’t be certain. Beside that was a small loaf of dark bread and various raw vegetables and fruits—most of them out of season, yet they seemed fresh off the vine. He poured water into the empty cup, drained it, then set about devouring the food.
An ordeal. Those words reminded Lewan exactly why he was here. These people had hunted him and his master, bound them, speared and poisoned him, and … and Berun was dead. The grapes he’d been chewing seemed to turn to ashes in his mouth. His spirit, which had been lifted at the wondrous sight of the fortress, sank, and in its place a hot anger filled him. It didn’t banish his fear, but his desire to defer and mind his manners before this “lady” was suddenly gone.
Lewan forced himself to swallow, then asked, “Why am I here?”
“You are here to rest. After what happened, you need it.”
“What … happened? What happened … happened because of you.”
Lewan risked a glance up. Talieth stood beside the foot of his bed, looking down on him. He could not tell if she was angry or shocked at his boldness. Her lips pursed as she considered his words, then broke into a very unladylike grin.
“Bold,” she said. “I admire boldness in a man.” She sat on the stool next to him and smoothed her skirt as she gathered her thoughts. “What happened out there was … unfortunate. Sauk had orders to bring your master here. It grieves me that Sauk had to resort to violence—gods know he probably didn’t hesitate—but you must understand, Lewan. We are in desperate need. Your master was our best hope.”
“Not anymore,” said Lewan. He managed to hold her gaze for a moment, but he dropped it and looked back to his food. Still, his voice did not tremble when he said, “My master is dead because of Sauk.”
“I’m sorry, Lewan,” said Talieth. Lewan looked up in shock at the tone in her words. Her voice seemed on the edge of breaking. Tears welled in her eyes. “So sorry. I … loved him, too. Once. Did he ever speak of me to you?”
Lewan tried to hold on to his anger, but seeing the lady’s sorrow, he could not. He even felt a twinge of guilt for telling her the truth. “No, lady. No. My master … I never knew him as anything but Berun, a servant of the Oak Father. His life before … I’m sorry, lady, but it’s all very new to me. He never spoke of it.”
“Well, then”—she wiped at her tears and took a deep breath through her nose, forcing herself back into the calm composure of the lady of the manor—“it seems that you and I have many things to tell one another. I would very much like to speak with you of your master. I … miss him. Very much.”
Much to his horror, Lewan felt tears rising in his own eyes. His throat felt suddenly thick. He would not cry in front of this woman. His rising tears made him angry.
“Berun would be here now,” he said through clenched teeth, “if not for you. You and your cursed half-orc and
his band of murderers.”
“Really?” Lewan heard the ice in Talieth’s voice, but when he looked up there was fire in her eyes. “Was it I who killed your master? No. Or was it the half-orc and his men? No again. According to every man there, including the ‘cursed half-orc,’ the earth rose up and swallowed your master. You dispute this?”
Lewan scrubbed the back of his sleeve across his eyes before the tears could fall.
“Well?”
“No,” he said, and the petulance in his voice only made him angrier.
Talieth wiped her own tears, then stood and paced the floor before the cold fireplace. “Believe me or not,” she said, “I do miss him. But you saw it yourself. It was not me or anyone I sent who killed your master. Sauk and his men are hunters, the fiercest and most cunning in thousands of miles, and there was nothing they could do to save him. You saw it yourself.”
Lewan’s head felt thick with unshed tears. He reached for the pitcher of water, but his hand shook so badly that he simply grabbed the handle and squeezed. “My master would not have been there were it not for you. Do you dispute that?”
“And he would not have been there had he not tried to escape,” she said. “Had he come as I asked. As I begged. Lewan. If we are going to go through all the what-ifs and what-might-have-beens, this will take a very, very long time. Time, I’m afraid, we do not have. You know why we needed your master?”
“He … he never had the chance to tell me.” Lewan released his grip on the pitcher and put both hands in his lap. They curled into fists, and he fixed his eyes on them as he struggled to keep his voice from breaking. “He and Sauk talked in camp. Quite a lot. But I was kept apart. I—”
Talieth stopped her pacing and looked at him. “Yes? You what?”
“I don’t think I was supposed to be there,” said Lewan. “I think Sauk was surprised to find me with Berun, and he … had to improvise. He kept us apart, I think, to try to control my master.”
Talieth said nothing at first, and when the silence grew uncomfortable, Lewan dared to look up. Talieth was standing before the darkened hearth, one arm cradling the other while she tapped her lips with one finger. She was watching him, and with most of the light coming from the open balcony behind her, her eyes seemed twin wells of shadow.
“Do you pray to the gods, Lewan?” she asked.
Lewan frowned, surprised at such an odd question. “I, uh … I serve the Oak Father, as Master Berun taught me.”
“I am no priestess,” said Talieth, “but even I can recognize a gift from the gods when I see it.”
“What?”
“Think about it, Lewan,” she said, and she stepped forward again until she stood at the foot of his bed. “We are in desperate, dire need. I had hoped that your master and the relic he carried could save us, could save all of Faerûn. But your master has been taken from us. Were it not for one thing, I would despair.”
“What thing?”
Talieth came closer. She placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “You.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sauk’s quarters—he didn’t consider it a home so much as a place to store his meager possessions; his home was the wild—were in the smallest of the Fortress’s many towers, a squat stone cylinder that overlooked the gardens and pools round the western falls. This meant he had to walk through most of the Fortress from the main gate, and the most direct path took him past the Tower of the Sun, which dominated the center of the Fortress.
His hunter’s nature—the part of him in tune with the pulse of the wild—did not like the Tower. He’d never liked it. Even before the Old Man’s madness, it had been little more than a crumbling relic of the long-dead Imaskari Empire. Now, covered in vines, flowers, and foliage of every sort, it ought to have appealed to him. It was, after all, the wild taken root and flourishing in the midst of a citadel of stone. Still, there was something … wrong about it, something that made Sauk’s skin crawl and made him want to grind his teeth and look away.
Still, it was that very wrongness that brought him by the Tower whenever he was about. He would often go far out of his way to pass the Tower’s main gate that led into the overgrown courtyard. As much as the place raised his hackles, his hunter’s nature also knew that the best thing to do with an enemy was to keep a careful watch.
Returning from his vigil on the mountain, still bare-chested with his shirt thrown over one shoulder and the dust of the mountain covering him, Sauk strolled past the main gate of the Tower of the Sun. The walls of purple stone surrounding the massive cylinder of the Tower could scarcely be seen through the riot of vines, leaves, and flowers that had grown over the wall and spilled into the street. Only the main gate remained clear, and as Sauk approached it, four men—veteran blades, every one—walked out and onto the pathway. Sauk knew them. Every one was loyal to the Old Man and had not been brought into Talieth’s plot. But if they had any suspicion of the conspiracy, they’d never given any sign.
“Vasilik!” Sauk called out.
Vasilik, a blond and bearded Illuskan, was the only blade in the Fortress who could look Sauk eye to eye, though he lacked the half-orc’s bulk. With his pale skin and long hair, the man looked like the famed barbarians from so many bard’s tales, but Vasilik had been no more than muscle for one of the guilds in Waterdeep before joining the blades of Sentinelspire.
“Well met, Sauk,” he said. The other three stopped at his side.
“How fares the Old Man?” asked Sauk.
A look of reverence—almost of awe—passed over the men’s faces. One even lowered his eyes, almost as if in prayer. Fools, thought Sauk.
“Hale as ever,” said Vasilik. “He has ordered all the blades and servants from his Tower, for tonight is a holy night. A night of preparation and contemplation. Would you care to join us?”
“Where will you take your vigil?”
“Under the oaks in the Garden of Winged Horses,” said Vasilik. “We would be honored if you would join us.”
“I will consider it.”
Draalim, a small Calishite whom Sauk knew often posed as a merchant throughout the Sword Coast, spoke up. “All the faithful must prepare, Sauk. The day draws close.”
“It does indeed,” said Sauk, and he walked around them.
Valmir watched the last of the bright green tail disappear into the foliage of the tree. He’d been watching the snake for some time. First as it crawled out from the bushes that lined the pathway to the fountain, then over the lawn. It had come within spitting distance of his bare feet before sliding through the grass to begin winding its way up the tree. Probably hunting birds’ eggs. Gods knew, this time of year the trees would be full of them.
Valmir’d been lounging under the tree since finishing his exercises. He’d been teaching himself a few spells here and there—mostly little cantrips or invocations to help in his line of work. But since becoming one of the blades of Sentinelspire—or more correctly, since charming his way into Talieth’s bed—she had begun teaching him more powerful spells. Beyond moving silently, unlocking a door, or covering his scent from hounds, Talieth’s spells had true power. He’d mastered only one so far, but he’d been practicing the rest. Still didn’t quite have the fourth order of finger movements down, but he was getting close. A nearby boulder still bore the scorch marks from his few near successes. But doing the damned finger motions tired him out, and Valmir had never been one to hesitate from a good rest.
The Star Fountain—so named because of the star blossoms that dominated the surrounding foliage and dropped their petals into the singing water beneath the fountain—was his favorite place to spend the morning doing absolutely nothing. Here, under the shade of the massive old oak whose roots sank into the fountain’s pool, there was plenty of shade, and most of the bees left him alone, preferring the sunlight amongst the star blossoms.
Birds overhead began making a terrible racket. That snake must be getting close to a late breakfast, thought Val. The birds were so noisy that Val saw
Sauk passing by on his right before he heard him. The half-orc was bare above the waist. He carried his shirt and a big leather satchel in one hand.
Valmir started to call out, but he thought better of it and closed his mouth. Sauk seemed very deep into his own thoughts. Valmir had been with the band when one of Talieth’s personal guards had made the stupid mistake of looking at Sauk at the wrong moment. Val had stood with the others and watched while Sauk beat the man nearly to death. Chiganis had survived, which Val couldn’t quite make up his mind about. He didn’t like the bastard, but he wasn’t sure if the man deserved to die that way just because of a look the half-orc had deemed disrespectful.
Sauk happened to glance Val’s way as he passed. He stopped. “What are you doing here?”
“Nothing at all,” said Val, and he did his best to keep the insolence out of his voice. No easy task for him. “You?”
“Been out.”
“On the mountain?”
Sauk nodded. His black mood seemed to be gone, but one could never be too sure. He nodded a farewell and turned to leave.
“Sauk?”
The half-orc stopped and turned.
“How’s Taaki?”
Sauk’s eyes narrowed. “She’ll live. Why do you ask?”
Val feared he’d trod onto thin ice. “Just concerned is all. She healed up yet?”
“If I were you,” said Sauk, “I’d concern myself with other things. But then, I suspect you’re nothing but relieved now. Am I right?”
“I don’t get your meaning.”
“Our quarry didn’t make it back.”
“And why would that relieve me?” said Val. “I’ll admit I didn’t much like it when the bastard tried to blind me with his cooking, but … relief? I don’t follow. Relief that he’s dead?”
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